


Punishment

by Lenny9987



Series: Lenny's Imagine Claire and Jamie Prompts [66]
Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 23:10:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19261051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenny9987/pseuds/Lenny9987
Summary: Prompt: What if Jamie decided not to intervene on Laoghaire’s behalf? He does not take a beating for her? Would Geillis keep Claire from intervening? What if Claire did intervene?





	Punishment

“Wait,  _ what’s _ going on?” Claire hissed, sure she must have heard wrong. 

Geillis rolled her eyes but repeated herself. “Her father accuses her of loose behavior and disobedience, so he requests the Mackenzie punish her. The Mackenzie’s agreed.” 

The blonde girl was struggling, clearly trying to get away as two of the laird’s men stepped forward, each reaching for one of her arms. A third had a belt in his hand, though Claire hadn’t seen where it came from. 

“And so she’s to be beaten? On nothing but the word of her father?” 

Geillis nodded. 

“But it’s barbaric,” Claire said with disbelief and disgust. 

The hall went silent and Claire realized she’d spoken far louder than she’d intended. 

“Mistress Beauchamp,” Colum Mackenzie addressed her and, as one, the eyes of everyone in the hall turned in her direction, including those of the young woman being held so she could receive her punishment. Her face was red and it was down to more than just crying. 

Claire bowed her head respectfully in Colum’s direction. 

“Do ye have something to say on the matter of Laoghaire Mackenzie?”

“My apologies, sir,” Claire began, and knew she should have left it at that, but seeing the humiliation on the teenager’s face… “I’m afraid I don’t understand the way things are done here. I’m used to a different method of… confronting accusations, of… sorting through any given situation, and meting out punishments when they’re due.”

“Aye…” Colum acknowledged her with his eyes narrowed. “And what might those methods be?”

“It takes more than one man’s word—especially one so closely involved with the accused—to find a party guilty of a crime,” Claire explained, her cheeks heating with her rising regret. She knew she sounded precisely as pompous as everyone around her likely believed her to be. 

“We’re no in a court of law, Mistress Beauchamp,” Colum pointed out to her. “In the Great Hall here when I listen to grievances, the only man who’s word matters… is  _ mine _ .” 

Claire bowed her head in deference but she quickly raised it again, refusing to be cowed for disagreeing. 

Colum appeared to take it as a challenge. 

“There are other customs I doubt ye’re aware of, Mistress,” he continued. “For instance, in certain circumstances, another party may stand and claim the punishment ordered for another.  _ This _ … is one such circumstance.”

It was a dare and either way Colum won. Either she backed away from the dare, in which case Colum’s authority was asserted and Claire was shown to be a hypocrite, claiming principles but backing away from them when tested (something that would reinforce the opinions of those around her concerning the English). Or she took the dare and was still visibly humiliated in front of everyone gathered in the Great Hall—and it would make a story that was told for weeks, if not years, to come. 

Geillis’ hand clutched Claire’s forearm, out of sight for most but her nails dug into Claire’s skin in warning. “It’s no yer place, Claire,” she hissed.

Claire flicked her wrist and shook off Geillis’ touch. 

“In that case, I would like to claim the punishment of this young lady,” Claire announced. She wished her voice hadn’t wavered as she’d said it. 

Colum wasn’t the only one who fought a smile. Dougal’s smirk sent a chill up her spine. 

“It’s yer funeral,” Geillis muttered as Claire pushed her way forward. She swallowed against the fear that began clawing its way up from her stomach as she drew closer and closer to the belt. Instead, she focused on the sight she caught from the corner of her eye—the teenager, released by the two men, scurried to the side of the room where Mrs. Fitz held her tight. But Mrs. Fitz’s gaze was frozen on Claire and an expression of horror mixed with her gratitude. 

Claire cleared her throat as she stood before the two men who’d been holding the girl. 

“Gentlemen,” she addressed them offering her arms to them. 

There was a commotion behind her and Claire prayed that it would die down, that nothing would delay this ordeal any further. She could accept her impulsiveness so long as she could focus on the fact that it would soon be over. It was always the days of waiting, of knowing that a battle was coming but not knowing exactly when it would occur that had driven her mad during the war. As soon as the wounded began coming in, she lost herself in the work of it, the drive to reach the inevitable after. She told herself that this would be much the same… 

The shouting behind her was in the Gáidhlig, so she didn’t know  _ exactly _ what was being said. But she recognized the voice, so she was able to guess. 

Colum replied in Gáidhlig as well, his expression (along with his brother’s beside him) lost much of its amusement. 

Claire was released by the two men and the third with the belt walked away. She turned to see Jamie McTavish standing at the front of the crowd, his eyes darting to hers only for a moment before returning to his uncles.

He’d promised to protect her, that no harm would come to her so long as he was near. And he was keeping that promise. 

Claire felt Geillis tugging her off to the side as one of the men who’d been holding her stepped forward to meet Jamie and, in the blink of an eye, had landed a punch to Jamie’s jaw. 

But Jamie had been ready to take it, only staggering a step backward. 

“Ye certainly ken how to make yerself conspicuous, Claire,” Geillis chuckled.

Claire could only stand and watch while Jamie took the beating. 

* * *

“You didn’t have to do that,” Claire insisted as she lifted Jamie’s chin to clean the cuts on his lip and over his eye.

“I wasna about to stand there and watch while ye took a lashing wi’ a strap,” he replied, wincing at the pressure she applied, light though it was. 

“But you would have watched while that girl took such a lashing?” Claire countered, judgement heavy in her voice. 

Jamie sat up straighter. “Ye dinna ken Laoghaire well, and I cannae say I know her  _ much _ better… but I do ken she disobeys her father when it comes to more’n just the lads.”

“And that’s reason enough for her to have been beaten in public?” Claire’s voice dropped to a hiss. She took a fresh cloth soaked in a bit of alcohol and applied it to the freshly cleaned cuts. She smiled as he groaned and grit his teeth. 

“The beating, perhaps no, though it is the least punishment her father could ha’ requested of the Mackenzie. It’s the public part that will push her to heed him better next time,” Jamie theorized. 

“My angels, the both of ye,” Mrs. Fitz declared as she burst into the room adjacent to the kitchen with a tea tray and several jars of herbs and salves. “What the both of ye did for my granddaughter… I’m in yer debt.”

“Absolutely not,” Claire shook her head and refocused on the swelling in Jamie’s face. She didn’t think his cheekbone was broken but there may be a crack. 

Jamie pressed his foot down on Claire’s, a gentle pressure that drew her attention to a dispirited Mrs. Fitz. 

“Not for my part,” Claire said, elaborating on her earlier thought. “After all… me running my mouth to the Mackenzie isn’t something to be lauded. It was Jamie here…” 

“Aye, and Laoghaire will be givin’ ye her thanks before long,” Mrs. Fitz insisted. “Let me fetch ye more water.”

“Ye ken I did it for you,” Jamie said when Mrs. Fitz had left the room. “And no just because of what I promised ye—”

“Jamie, you don’t have to—”

“It was brave, what ye did. Stupid… but brave. And the brave dinna deserve to be punished for it.” 

“What about you? You were brave too… and yet here you are… bleeding,” Claire pointed out, teasing him gently as she applied one of the salves that she was fairly certain was meant to reduce swelling. 

“Ye’re worth sheddin’ a bit of blood.” Jamie’s voice was low and Claire thought she could feel it humming through her blood. 

“I don’t want you or anyone spilling blood on my account, especially not your own,” she told him. 

“If tha’s yer wish.” The way Jamie said it sounded like he doubted her sincerity. 

Claire let herself be offended by the sentiment. It was easier that way. 

“It is,” she said forcefully. She set the jar of salve back on the tray and reached for a nearby rag to wipe her hands. 

“Sassenach…” 

But there were footsteps on the stones and they stopped just outside the room. 

Laoghaire’s fair head peeked in and Claire took the opportunity to make for the door. 

“Thank ye for what ye said in the Great Hall,” Laoghaire muttered, her eyes drifting to Jamie. 

“I hope you need never endure such an ordeal again. Please, excuse me,” and with a final glance over her shoulder to Jamie sitting stiffly on the bench as Laoghaire approached, Claire headed back to her room. 

The peddler was due the following morning and it wouldn’t help anyone for her to spend more time alone with Jamie—not when he said things like that and they made her body want to stop listening to her. 


End file.
